


Pop Lock and Drop It

by Honeymull



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Bruises, M/M, Undernegotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 16:44:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honeymull/pseuds/Honeymull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't know what the fuck you were thinking, but don't- don't fucking do that again." Cally's voice is low and furious and Dan's gut drops with the intensity of it. "It's not a fucking <i>test</i> you have to pass."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pop Lock and Drop It

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after the Canadiens/Rangers game on 2/23/'13, in which Girardi blocked a PK Subban slapshot in the last minute of the (3-0, Habs) game (with 4 teammates *already* injured, jfc) and scared the shit out of everybody going down hard.
> 
> Warnings! for under-negotiated kink that is fully consensual and enthusiastic on both participants' parts; bruise-play/mild, informal pain-play. (And as always, please feel free to shoot me a message if you want more details about what happens to help with trigger-navigating. :) )
> 
> Title from the song because I'm hilarious.
> 
> Written for Pass_Shoot_Porn, prompt being "Pass the test".

By the time Dan's on his own couch and off his feet after the game, Cally's worked himself into a huge snit.

Dan hears Cally throwing his keys into the bowl on the table by Danny's door with more force than necessary, turning the deadbolts and throwing his coat over a chair in the kitchen. He knows Cally's routines whenever they go back to Dan's after a game, and this is all in sync with that, albeit with significantly more vehemence than usual. 

Dan thinks about getting up and getting ice for his ankle himself, since Cally's probably standing in the middle of his kitchen still fuming.

"You don't fucking move!" Cally shouts it from the kitchen and Dan rolls his eyes and sinks back into the couch cushions. His ankle fucking _stings_ , though the insane pain on initial impact is completely gone.

It's another five minutes before Cally returns, an ice-bag in one hand and a towel in the other one. He barely meets Dan's eyes, face drawn tight in a frown.

"Cally-"

Cally flicks a hard look at him that shuts him up effectively, then kneels by Dan's ankle to wrap the bag in the towel, then around Dan's ankle.

"I don't know what the fuck you were thinking, but don't- don't fucking do that again." Cally's voice is low and furious and Dan's gut drops with the intensity of it. "It's not a fucking _test_ you have to pass."

Everything in Dan wants to come back swinging, all his retorts lined up on the tip of his tongue, but Cally leans forward and rests his forehead on Dan's wrapped-up ankle. "Last minute of the game, you fucker, do you know how fucking scary it was seeing you down like that?"

Dan feels helpless here, but it seems like Cally's anger has all at once gone out of him, mostly. "Considering I was there when you let Chara shatter your ankle? Yeah, I kinda do."

Cally mutters something that Dan misses, only catching the bitchy argumentative tone, but for the first time tonight the tension strung up in him settles down enough for him to smile just a tiny bit. 

He reaches out to drag his nails up the back of Cally's neck, the short hairs on his nape prickling the pads of his fingers pleasantly. 

Cally shivers, then sighs. He slides up closer to Dan and doesn't kiss him, but fits his teeth over a bruise that's purpling on the inside of Dan's forearm, half-hidden under his rolled-up sleeve. 

Dan can't help swallowing, and it sounds embarrassingly loud in the empty room. 

Cally's mouth curls up at the corners and he pauses there for a long moment. His breath is warm on Dan's arm. "Danny. If you wanted more bruises, you don't have to sacrifice yourself on the ice with a minute to go," and he _nips_ the bruise right at the edge of it, just hard enough that it sends a spark of pain down to Dan's fingertips and Dan can't help the way he's suddenly short of breath.

"That's not why-" He tries to refute it, because obviously it's _not_ why he blocked that shot - it was all instinct, autopilot, and the clock was the last thing on his mind with Subban winding up unchallenged. 

But Cally drags his teeth over the bruise again, one hand shoving Dan's dress shirt off of him and tugging up the thin t-shirt underneath it to get at the bruises on his ribs, and Dan trails off helplessly, wrestling the t-shirt off, himself, and tossing it to the floor. His hips twitch as his cock gets in on the game, kind of late to the party when he has Cally alone and kneeling right by him.

"I know," Cally says, finally actually looking him in the eye for a second before shoving the heel of his palm in under Dan's ribs against the fresh bruise that stings like a motherfucker and makes Dan choke on a shout, his head thunking back into the armrest. 

"How did you even know that was there, you freak?" Dan asks when he gets his breath back. His voice is still weird and breathy, but it's Cally, so he doesn't bother being too embarrassed about that. 

Cally runs his fingertips along the edges of it, over Dan's ribs and presses in on an older bruise from Dan's gear digging into his hip on a hit. It's a more muted kind of pain, not as sharp, and it spreads through Dan's body in a way that has him groaning and his dick jerking to full hardness in his pants as Cally keeps putting pressure on it. 

"I pay attention," Cally says, and Dan has to raise his head off the armrest to look at him, because now _he_ sounds just as destroyed as Dan feels. Sure enough, his eyes are trained on the bruises dotting across Dan's body, dipping to take in the way Dan's dick moves, obvious in his pants, whenever he presses down on one the right way. 

"Fuck, Danny," He swears, and Dan sees him reach down to open his pants, one hand inside to rub against his cock and his other hand curled into a fist to put the weight of his knuckles into the bruise on Dan's hip. 

It's just so _good_ , impossible as it sounds when Dan remembers how much that one hurt at first, but he's nearly whining for the press of Cally's fingers on it, now. 

"Get your, open your-" Cally's not making sense, but Dan knows what he's saying, and hurries to get his pants unzipped, kicking them and his underwear down awkwardly with his one good foot to where they pool around his injured one. 

Cally's up off his knees as soon as Dan manages that much, sliding effortlessly onto the couch to straddle Dan's thighs and put his mouth against the big bruise on Dan's ribs, sucking, then almost gnawing, the skin hard enough to keep it throbbing. 

Dan's cock kicks precome onto his stomach and Cally raises his head and looks wide-eyed and indecisive for a second, so much so that Dan nearly laughs. "What?"

"I need another fucking hand," Cally says, mouth twisting against his own amusement as he hears how ridiculous it sounds, but then he continues, low and dirty, "I want to jerk you off but I want to hold you down and hit your bruises until you come so hard you forget how to block stupid fucking shots at the end of a game we already lost, and I don't want you to move and fuck up your ankle more, so," he grinds his cock against the thick muscle in Dan's thigh, then does it again, biting his lip, "Another hand? It'd come in handy."

Dan started making noise right around the part where Cally told him he wanted to hold him down, and he realizes he's still groaning, his entire body aching in the best kind of way. 

"Cally," he manages, knowing he's closer than he has any right to be when Cally's not even out of his pants yet. He gets a hand around Cally's waist, though, pulls him in closer and down harder against his thigh, guiding Cally to pick up the tempo on his inelegant rut. 

"Don't fucking- hurt yourself," Cally gasps, riding Dan's thigh more urgently, then putting his fist hard into the mark he just made in the thin skin on the fringes of the bruise on Dan's ribs, emphasis a spreading rush of pain. 

Dan chokes, losing his grip on Cally's ass as Cally slips down quicker than he should be able to, careful of Dan's wrapped ankle, to catch Dan's come as Dan loses it half on his own stomach and thighs and half on Cally's tongue and chin. 

He can't fucking breathe, and he feels like he should still be hard, wants to go again immediately just seeing Cally lick his lips and close his eyes like he loves it before shoving a hand back into his pants to get off, himself.

"Oh, shit. Danny," he breathes, voice shredded, and Dan has to - _has_ to- pull him back up his body to straddle his chest again, as Dan bats Cally's hand out of the way to wrap his own around Cally's cock.

Cally moans, head lolling back on his neck and hips pushing into Dan's grip, a strong rhythmic twitch that makes Dan's gut clench wanting to get fucked later, maybe, if it won't mess too much with his ankle. 

Cally's leaking all over the place, but Dan knows how he likes it, sloppy wet and desperate, so he licks his palm and brings Cally's free hand to the bruise on Dan's wrist he liked so much before. 

Cally opens his eyes, then, gaze blown-out and frantic as he works into Dan's hand, but he makes a helpless, broken sound as Dan presses down pointedly on Cally's fingers over Dan's wrist and then lets go. Cally's a quick study, though, and he wants this just as much as Dan did- does-, so he grinds his cock hard in between Dan's stomach and his hand even as he digs his nails in with what feels like the full strength of his grip, and comes with a long whine as Dan's cheeks heat up with pleasure-pain all over again, his eyelashes fluttering helplessly, trying to close. 

He keeps them open with an effort, even as he valiantly strokes Cally through one hell of an orgasm, aftershocks insistent and messy. 

Cally doesn't let his wrist go until the tension in his spine finally get cut like a string, and he slumps down in Dan's lap. 

"So," Danny starts. Cally raises his head just enough to narrow his eyes at him. He probably knows exactly what's coming, and their familiarity is so old-hat by now but it still sends a pleasant warmth through Dan. "So I can't get hurt, but you can beat on me to teach me not to get beat on."

He's grinning, perfectly at ease and just giving Cally shit, but Cally stiffens just a little bit before Dan brings a hand up to his hip to ground him again, raking his blunt nails lightly over the thick muscle layering Cally's side. 

That gets Cally to relax again, and he flicks Dan in the ribs, right over the place he marked up. "Yeah. That's what I'm saying."

Dan snorts. 

Cally taps at Dan's ribs. "If you fucked up your ankle during this, by the way, you're not getting any for a week."

He hops off Dan's lap, grimacing at the mess on his pants and leaving Dan to protest the entire way he goes to get a towel.

Dan yells one last, "Yes you did!" to argue who started it as Cally disappears, then lets himself collapse back into the cushions to wait. His ankle doesn't hurt any more than it did when he hobbled in, and the swelling's gone down some, besides. 

It almost feels _better_ than it did before Cally wrenched out a spectacular orgasm from both of them. 

"Hey, Cally..." he calls, head tipped back on the armrest. There's a particular potential benefit for them both here if he spins it right. He'd wager he can get Cally to see it, too.


End file.
